


Enemy Action

by dishonestdreams



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Communication Failure, F/M, Misunderstandings, Ridiculous, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23106595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dishonestdreams/pseuds/dishonestdreams
Summary: Bucky's not subtle, Darcy's oblivious and Steve is largely despairing (and frequently ignored)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis
Comments: 16
Kudos: 176
Collections: fan_flashworks





	Enemy Action

**Author's Note:**

> Another fan_flashworks fic, for the prompt _coincidence_
> 
> Trying out a slightly different style of writing with maximum dialogue and minimal description. Not entirely sure it worked, but I do like it well enough to share, so, enjoy?

“Fucker,” Darcy said, stabbing her finger accusingly in Bucky’s general direction. “You owe me a date.”

Steve half-choked on the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken, but Darcy kept her focus on Bucky. Steve would be fine, and she had an _objective_ here. She wasn’t getting side-tracked by the sensibilities of _certain_ supersoldiers.

Not when certain _other_ supersoldiers didn’t seem to have any.

Bucky twisted to face her, turning away from the coffee machine. He dropped one hip to lean against the counter, and folded his arms, before he raised his eyebrows questioningly. Darcy scowled.

“I’m not kidding, Barnes,” she said, tartly, and Bucky shook his head.

“Never said you were, doll,” he drawled. “Just wondering how you figured that’s true.”

Darcy narrowed her eyes, and leant against the counter herself, mirroring his pose. “I have had three dates lined up in the last three weeks, and each and every one of them has cancelled on me at the last minute.”

The look Bucky shot her was the perfect mix of disbelief and confusion, and if Darcy didn’t _know_ how much of a fucking troll he was, she might have been fooled. “Not following you, doll,” he said, with a shrug.

“Well,” Darcy said slowly, drawing the word out. “Here’s the thing. I can accept one cancellation. It is entirely within the realms of possibility that _one_ of the perfectly nice men I have been talking to had second thoughts, went away and slept on it, and decided that, on reflection, he did not want to take a ride on the Darcy love train. That, that is plausible. And I am okay with that, because I am _all fucking about_ informed and enthusiastic consent.”

Bucky’s expression was verging on pained. Or constipated, whatever, Darcy didn’t care. “The…Darcy love train?” he echoed dubiously, and Darcy poked him in the (perfectly sculpted, _Jesus_) chest.

“Focus,” she said pointedly. “As I was saying, one is okay. I mean, one is not great, but I can cope with one. Two though? Two is weird and, if I was less confident in my inherent awesomeness, two might start making me worry that there’s something wrong with me.”

Bucky took a breath, as though he was about to interrupt, and Darcy held her hand up imperiously to forestall him. “Not finished,” she said. “Because, even though it’s super strange and I don’t like it, I can accept that two _might_ be a coincidence. I can interpret it that way, if I’m being generous. But now we have three. Three guys in three weeks and three is not a fucking coincidence, Barnes. Three is _enemy fucking action_.”

Steve made a deeply suspicious noise from where he’d buried his head in his hands and Darcy pointed one finger at him warningly. “Shut it, Rogers,” she said, “This is no laughing matter, this is _serious shit_.”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky said, his voice balanced on the edge of a laugh, and Darcy glared at him again. “This is _serious_.” 

Smug fucker. Darcy was going to stick fridge magnets all over his arm when he wasn’t looking. Cutesy ones.

Steve held out his hands in the classic gesture of surrender, with a slight shake of his head. His eyes were suspiciously bright, and he pressed his lips tight together as he glanced between Darcy and Bucky.

“Gotta say though,” Bucky continued, ignoring Steve as though he wasn’t there. “Still not seeing how it’s my fault.”

“Really?” Darcy drawled, briefly abandoning her consideration of magnetic warfare. “So, it didn’t occur to you that, having been faced with clear and present _sabotage_, I might counterstrike?”

Bucky’s left eyelid twitched, and Steve dropped onto the closest stool. His shoulders were shaking, but he _was_ keeping his mouth shut, so Darcy decided she could let it go. “Counterstrike,” Bucky repeated slowly.

“Damn straight,” Darcy said, “I am a grown woman, with emotional maturity and all that shit. I _asked_.”

Bucky stilled, just a hint of that scary sniper focus visible under the surface of his cool demeanour and Darcy crowed internally, because she fucking _had_ him (even if being the target of that type of focus kind of made her breath go a little funny). “And?” he asked.

Darcy tugged her phone from her pocket, and tapped pointedly at the screen, scrolling through until she found the message she was looking for. “_You seem really nice, Darcy_,” she read out loud, “_but dealing with threats from reformed assassins is a bit above my paygrade, sorry_.” She looked back up, but Bucky’s expression was unreadable. “Care to explain?”

Bucky shrugged. “Could be Natalia,” he pointed out, and Darcy rolled her eyes, because, seriously, did he think she was fucking _new_.

“Natasha would _never_,” she said with certainty. “Natasha has more respect for me than _that_.”

Steve winced, and Bucky tensed, straightening up from his lazy slouch and fixing her with an intent look, that made the part of Darcy that totally went for _tall, dark and kinda scary_ maybe sit up a little in turn.

She was admitting nothing.

“I respect you, Darcy,” he said, and Darcy huffed in disbelief.

“Clearly _not_,” she pointed out, waving her phone in his direction.

Bucky shot her phone a disparaging look. “I respect _you_,” he said, again, implacably. “I don’t respect your shit taste in men.”

“So you admit it?” Darcy said, sharply, and then, “Wait, what?”

Bucky shrugged, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You got me,” he said.

“Right,” Darcy said, “Let’s revisit that in one second. What do you mean I have shit taste in men? Those were all _perfectly nice men_.”

“Sure,” Bucky said, “If you like the type.”

Darcy was going to throttle him, super-serum and fluttering pulse be damned. Natasha would help, she was almost sure of it, if only for the shit-stirring potential it would give her for later. “_What_ type?”

“Boring,” Bucky said, “Predictable. _Safe_.” He shot another dirty look at Darcy’s phone. “Cowardly, apparently.”

“Oh my god,” Darcy said, her words tinged with exasperation. “That’s _it_? None of that gives you the right to put the veto on my love life.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Like you wouldn’t dump them in a hot minute once the novelty wore off,” he said, flatly. “I’m just saving you the effort.”

Darcy paused, because, well. She _did_ have a type and it wasn’t entirely the type she’d been dating recently, but beggars could not be choosers, and Darcy was all about seizing the moment. Or being seized in the moment, whatever. “Probably,” she admitted, and Bucky blinked. “But that’s not the point. The point is that I should get to _go_ on my boring, predictable, safe dates, maybe even have some boring, predictable, safe sex, and _then_ dump them. You are denying me sex. Orgasms, Barnes, _orgasms_. Why would you do that to me, _why_?”

Bucky hesitated, his mouth twisting wryly, and Steve elbowed him sharply in the ribs. 

“For god’s sake, Buck,” he said, “This is bordering on painful. If you don’t tell her, I will.”

Darcy frowned, and Bucky shot him a dark look. “Traitor,” he muttered, and Steve shook his head.

“No way, pal,” he said, firmly. “You’re not getting out of this one, because this is ridiculous. Step the hell up. I’ll give you to a count of three.” He paused, eyebrows raised expectantly, and then held his pointer finger up in the air. “One.”

Bucky growled. “Alright,” he said, irritably. “Shut up, Steve. I’ll tell her.”

Darcy scrutinised them, her gaze flicking between the two of them, but it failed to clear up a damn thing; Bucky looked grumpy (situation: normal), while Steve’s expression was openly challenging (frankly, also situation: normal). “Somebody needs to start telling me something,” she said, hands on her hips. “Otherwise, soldier boys or not, shit is going to go _down_.”

“Jesus, do you hear yourself?” Bucky asked, shaking his head when Darcy scowled and poked him again in the chest. With nails. “Alright, fuck doll, what the hell?”

“Two,” Steve said, pointedly.

“Quit stalling, and talk,” Darcy said, and tapped her foot on the floor in a pointed show of impatience. Whatever, she was entitled.

Bucky sighed, ducking his head and pulling his hand out of his pocket to scrub it through his hair. “I just didn’t want you dating those assholes.”

“Yep,” Darcy said, “Got that, thanks. Why the hell not?”

Bucky shot her an incredulous look, which, really, _what_, and Darcy widened her eyes at him in response. Steve gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Because he wants to be the only asshole you’re dating, Darcy,” he said, patiently. “I swear, you two are as bad as each other.”

Steve’s words hung in the air for a drawn-out moment, and Darcy stared at him uncomprehendingly as her brain blanked, flashing up the mental equivalent of a 404-error. Page not found, does not compute, _what the hell_. There was no way, no _way_ she’d heard what she thought she’d just heard and she reached out, curling her fingers around the countertop in a steadying gesture. “Dating?” she said, disbelievingly. “Bucky, and me, dating? Seriously?”

Okay, it was what Steve had said, intellectually she _knew_ that, but still…

“On my honour,” Steve said, solemnly. Bucky scowled at him.

Darcy bit her lip against the smile that was threatening to break free and snuck a quick look at Bucky (still scowling, but now he was avoiding looking her in the eye, a new wariness in his stance and oh, _oh_, that actually boded _really well_). Because, on the one hand, okay, _blindsided_, but on the other? On the other was her actual, real-life self, dating Bucky? Holy _shit_. With the initial shock wearing off, she had to admit that this was a _much_ better outcome than she’d been expecting when she’d stormed down here.

“Oh my god,” she said, delightedly, as realisation suddenly struck. “Oh my _god_, really? You’re threatening my dates like some superspysassin version of pulling my pigtails. You want to get all up in my lady business!”

“Fuck,” Bucky’s wary look faded as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I want you to never call it ‘lady business’ again.”

“Whatever, dude.” Darcy said, and she circled a finger around herself. “You want this - and don’t front, Steve’s outed you, you totally _do_ \- then you’re gonna have to deal with _this_.” She tapped her finger against her mouth.

Bucky’s eyes darkened (totally gratifying, Darcy wasn’t going to lie), and his gaze tracked slowly down her front and back up, following the line she’d traced. He met her eyes, and his mouth quirked. “If I’m not fronting, then I want it all, doll,” he said, just a hint of gravel edging the words, and Darcy felt her cheeks flush.

“Right,” she said, a little breathless and a little breathy, and _okay_ then. “Right, _awesome_. We can totally work with that.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” Steve said, dryly. ““At least buy her a drink first.”

Bucky paused, shooting Darcy a thoughtful look from under his eyelashes. “Punk’s got a point, doll. How many dates did you say I owe you?”

“Three,” Darcy, and Steve muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like _that you know about_. Which, okay, probably something that deserved more investigation later, but right now Darcy could afford to be magnanimous. “I expect dinner and dancing. Also, orgasms.”

She wasn’t _that_ magnanimous.

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at her questioningly. “Plural?” he asked, and Steve groaned.

“_Bucky!_” he said, reproachfully, as his cheeks flushed pink.

Darcy ignored him, flashing Bucky a sweet smile instead. “Super-stamina,” she pointed out, because, if they were on the subject, _that_ was always worth mentioning.

Darcy may have considered it before. Once or twice.

Bucky smiled, slow and easy and promisingly wicked in a way that made Darcy’s mouth water. “Noted,” he said, “So, date?”

Darcy beamed. “Date,” she agreed. “Pick me up at eight, bring flowers and don’t be late.”

“I have done this before,” Bucky pointed out and Darcy snorted.

“So I’ve heard,” she said, “But I’m going to go out on a limb and say that past-you did not actually think that _threatening people_ was the best way to get dates, so I have to assume that your technique is a little rusty and could use improvement. I’m on your side here, Buck, I want you to win. I’m _helping_.”

“She has a point,” Steve commented.

“Shut up, Stevie,” Bucky said, absently. “Trust me, Darcy, I’ve got this.”

“We’ll see,” Darcy said, and clapped her hands, hip-checking the counter to push herself upright. “Okay, _okay_, if it’s date night, I need to go and get ready. So little time, so much perfection to create.”

Bucky shot the clock a dubious glance. “Already?” he asked.

“The Lewis level of amazing does not come without some serious effort,” Darcy said, loftily, as she turned toward the door. She paused in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. “One more thing.”

Bucky raised in his chin in a silent question, and Darcy shot him a bright smile.

“Cancel on me, and I promise they will never find your body.”

Bucky’s mouth quirked with just a hint of his own smile to reflect hers. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll,” he said, seriously, and Darcy grinned to herself as she ducked into the hallway.

Best. Argument. Ever.


End file.
